Family Gathering
by Syl
Summary: A sort of answer to the question, 'Who yawned first' I wrote this as a kind of sequel to last year's Like Father, Like Son. I hope you enjoy.


Summary: A sort of answer to the question, 'Who yawned first?' (I wrote this as a kind of sequel to last year's "Like Father, Like Son." I hope you enjoy.)

Disclaimer: Batman is owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

Copyright January 2003

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Family Gathering

By Syl Francis

****

"Her exact words were, 'I'll ***_kill*_** whichever one yawns first'--meaning one of us!" Dick used his fork to first point at Bruce, and then back at himself. As an afterthought, he took a bite of the bacon that was still speared at the end of it. 

Alfred, wearing an uncharacteristically jolly 'Rudolph' apron, rolled his eyes at his younger charge's poor table manners. _But it ***is* **Christmas, after all_, he silently reminded himself. And after the horrendous year that they were about to finally lay to rest--a year that found Master Bruce accused of murder, suffering from lengthy rifts with two of his most trusted aides, and ending with Bane claiming to be his long-lost half-brother--with a year like that, any hint at **_normalcy_** in the Wayne kitchen was a welcome respite.

"Somehow, I didn't think Miss Barbara meant her father," Alfred answered drolly. "By the way, young sir...Master Bruce was back shortly after midnight. What time did ***_you*_** finally call it a night?"

"About four or so," Dick said giving Bruce a look of surprise. "You sure made it an early night, Bruce. What happened?" Bruce's eyes twinkled in fleeting amusement.

"Like you said, Dick. The Legend of the Dark Bat leaves most of Gotham's seedier denizens a little too afraid to try anything 'naughty' on Christmas Eve. After all, 'he sees you when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake.'"

"What are you talking about, Bruce? That's Santa Claus you're describing, not Batman!"

"You know that, and I know that. But according to some drunks I overheard last night at McSurley's Bar, if you're planning any heists in Gotham City, you'd better watch out, because Batman ***_knows_*** and ***_sees_*** everything."

Dick made a face. "Great. Terrific. I bust my butt all night long on the trail of these arms dealers who've been supplying several of the Bludhaven street gangs, and what do I get for my troubles?" He pointed at several parts of his anatomy. "Cuts and bruises galore. Aches and pains everywhere that make me feel a lot older than I am. Practically no sleep. And a few well-placed '**_barbs_**'--" He paused meaningfully at the word. Bruce and Alfred sighed simultaneously at the bad pun. "--from a girl who supposedly ***_loves*_** me."

"If I were you, Dick, I'd catch me a few 'Zs' before noon today," Bruce offered.

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Dick nodded, making a poor attempt to look crestfallen. The next second, he caught sight of Bruce's plate and instantly recovered his usual happy demeanor. "You gonna eat that piece of French toast?" 

Shaking his head, Bruce pushed his plate in Dick's direction. "Help yourself," he said. He glanced up as Alfred replenished the serving platters for the third time that morning. The two older men exchanged brief looks of amusement. Dick had always had a voracious appetite as a kid, and it seemed that young adulthood hadn't changed this aspect of his character. 

"And on top of everything else," Dick continued between bites, "I get zero name recognition. I've been on the job in Bludhaven for a little over a year now, and the bad guys ***_still*_** don't know me from Adam." He chewed in glum silence for a few moments. "I tell you, Bruce...I get no respect!" At his words, Dick gave a long, drawn out yawn. "No respect at all." He blinked blearily at Bruce, and then mumbling added, "I hate my life."

"Really?" Bruce asked. "Well, you know that any time you wish, you've got a junior executive job waiting for you at Wayne Corp," he began. 

"Not to mention that your room's waiting for you upstairs, young sir," Alfred said. 

"You already know that the Batcave is more than big enough for two people to work out of it," Bruce added.

"And let's not forget the superior valet service that comes with the whole package," Alfred said immodestly.

"Oh, but of course," Bruce replied with a slight smile. "What do you say, Dick? Is it a deal?" A soft snore from across the table was his answer. Chin in hand, Dick had fallen fast asleep at the breakfast table. 

Recalling the many times this very scene had been repeated during Robin's early years, Bruce shook his head. "Some things never change."

****

"Listen, Red! It's Christmas Day and even Scrooge gave Bob Crachit the day off! If these guys don't get on with it soon, I'm checking out." Ignoring Black Canary's annoyed whisper over her headsets, Barbara's fingers danced steadily across her keyboard. "I've got a little girl waiting to give her ol' Gramma Canary a Christmas hug--!"

"--Hold it!" Barbara said sharply. "They're moving...sector 4-5-7...***_Go*_**!"

"I'm on it!"

Barbara sat glued to her monitor, watching the miniature red icons that represented the terrorists, the red dots of their hostages, and the lone blue symbol of Black Canary. 

"Turn left up ahead at the next corridor, then take another left immediately," Barbara said calmly. "The hostages are in the third room on the right."

"Got it."

Barbara saw a group of red dots break from the main party and start in Black Canary's direction. "Dinah, you've got bogies on your tail," she warned.

"I see them!" The next moment, Black Canary's blue dot was almost completely obliterated by an influx of red ones. Over her headset, Barbara heard heavy breathing, grunts, and sudden cries of pain. She hated not being able to see what was going on, and unconsciously, her left hand began to tap out an intricate beat on the handle of her wheelchair. Meanwhile, her right pressed the right button on the mouse and activated Black Canary's head cam.

Instantly, Barbara was inside the terrorists' compound with Black Canary, fighting alongside her. In less than two minutes, Black Canary's attackers lay at her feet, unconscious. When one groaned and stirred, she coldly kicked him across the chin, knocking him out again. 

"Ouch!" Barbara grunted. "That hurt."

"I'll say," Black Canary said darkly. "That creep just ruined a perfectly good pedicure!" 

Shaking her head, Barbara tapped the video link from Black Canary's head cam to the compound's security system and quickly found the hostages' holding cell. A black box caught her eye and in less than a heartbeat, Barbara zoomed in on it--a bomb. And it was counting down.

"Dinah, you have two minutes, 39 seconds to reach them!"

"***_Now*_** you tell me--!"

"And Dinah...it's enough explosive to take out five city blocks."

"Remind me never to call you on Christmas Eve to wish you a Merry Christmas," Black Canary grumbled. Then, to Barbara's surprise, her video link with Black Canary went dead.

"Dinah!" she called worriedly. "Dinah, are you all right?"

"Easy does it, Red," Black Canary murmured. "I just don't like anyone looking over my shoulder when I'm about to diffuse a bomb."

"But, I can help," Barbara protested. "I can run a full chemical analysis and determine the wiring, timing mechanism, type of detonator--" She stopped. Black Canary was being uncharacteristically quiet--no sharp quips, light banter, or witty repartee! "What's going on?" Barbara wondered.

"Done!" Black Canary broke in. 

"Done--?" Barbara stammered.

"I've diffused the bomb and moved the hostages to a safe place."

"Diffused the bomb--? Moved the hostages--?"

"So, you can tell the Feds it's safe for them to enter and round up the bad guys." Barbara heard Black Canary give out a long, drawn-out yawn. "Ummm...I could sleep for a week," she said dreamily. "But I can't! Gotta catch a shuttle to Star City. Ollie, Roy and Lian are waiting for me. A real Arrow Family Christmas gathering."

"Sounds nice," Barbara murmured.

"Hope your Bat Family Christmas isn't too dark and dysfunctional. Well...Merry Christmas, Red. See you in the New Year!" With that Black Canary logged off, leaving Barbara feeling suddenly empty. 

'Dark and dysfunctional' is ***_not*_** how this year's Christmas celebration is going to be, she vowed. We have so much to be thankful for after the terrible events of the previous year. There's no way that either Bruce or Dick--or even Tim and Alfred--are going to find a way to weasel out of Christmas dinner at the Gordons.

Barbara yawned suddenly and glanced tiredly at the clock--8:00 am. She'd promised her father that she'd be home by before noon to help with the hors d'oeuvres and with setting the table. She had just enough time to catch a nap before she had to shower and dress. About to head to her bedroom, she was stopped by the sound of an emergency beeper on her console.

Her fatigue instantly forgotten, Barbara picked up her headset and got to work.

"Oracle, here!"

"Oracle, JLA emergency! Superman and Green Lantern need some assistance with..."

****

Bruce stared uncomprehendingly at the charger plates in his hands. At Dick's derisive laughter, he looked up and gave him his best Bat-glare. Undaunted, Dick took the charger plates and proceeded to place them on the table.

"Like this, Bruce. See...? One for every setting," Dick explained between chuckles. He caught sight of Tim who was dutifully placing a delicate, gold-rimmed plate over each charger. "Now that you've seen this demonstration on the art of setting the table, Bruce, you think you could help by placing one of those napkins on each plate?" He pointed at the stack of tastefully folded napkins, each held carefully in place with a silver napkin ring.

Eyes narrowed dangerously, Bruce picked up one of the folded napkins and placed it haphazardly on a plate. Soon, there was a carelessly tossed napkin not quite centered on each place setting. Rolling his eyes at his adoptive father's obvious lack of grace, Dick shook his head and then with great care, rearranged each napkin until it was exactly centered on the plate, its folds fanned out elegantly.

Bruce crossed his arms and gave Dick a sardonic look. "So what's the point, may I ask? It's going to be messed up as soon as you use it."

"Master Bruce, really!" Alfred tsked, stepping in from the kitchen, carrying newly polished silverware. "If you have to ask, young man, then there is no point in explaining it to you. Now, please, sir...be a good guest and go try one of Commissioner Gordon's delicious hors d'oeuvres in the living room." 

Alfred spoke as he none-too-gently maneuvered Bruce away from the dining room table. As soon as he had Bruce safely in the other room, Alfred returned to the task of setting the table. 

"Master Timothy--! No, no, no! The salad fork goes on the ***_other*_** side...Like this--!" Alfred's eyes widened in shock. "Absolutely, no steak knives!" He sighed, and closing his eyes asked no one in particular, "Oh, ***_why*_** do I bother?" 

"Now, now, Alfred," Leslie said softly in his ear. "If you have to ask...?" Her eyes twinkling, she looked meaningfully up at a sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Looking left and right, she stepped in close and kissed him gently on the cheek. Gazing into her lovely eyes, Alfred momentarily forgot himself and took a step in closer to her. About to take her in his arms, he was interrupted by the sound of boyish laughter coming from the next room.

Clearing his throat, Alfred immediately stepped back, and unable to meet Leslie's eyes, quickly excused himself. "I'd best see what Masters Richard and Timothy are up to. No telling what kind of mischief those two can cook up when left to their own devices."

Staring at her feet, Leslie nodded. "Of course, Alfred. I--I think I'll go see if Jim needs any help in the kitchen..."

****

"I don't understand what's keeping her," Jim said a bit worried. "She called me earlier this morning and said she'd be here before noon." He glanced at he kitchen clock. "It's almost two now." He looked at Alfred and Leslie. "You don't suppose that something could've--?"

"Of course not, sir," Alfred replied confidently. "I'm reasonably sure that Miss Barbara is quite all right." Thinking of Barbara's job as Oracle to the superhero community, Alfred knew that any number of emergencies could have held her up unexpectedly. Not wanting to worry her father unduly, he added with false joviality, "Knowing young ladies, sir, it is entirely possible that Miss Barbara has simply decided to go 'all out' in her personal appearance."

Not convinced, Jim shook his head. Unknown to Alfred, Jim was very much aware of his daughter's 'secret' identity, which is why he was particularly worried. He knew the personal danger she was constantly in as Oracle. He'd even heard through the grapevine that a gangland kingpin in Bludhaven, known as Blockbuster, had placed a permanent price on her head of several million dollars. 

No, if Barbara were late to this gathering of friends and family--something that she had been looking forward to for several days now--Jim knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it had nothing to do with his daughter having a difficult time deciding which dress to wear. 

"I'm going to call her again," he said. "If there's no answer at her place, then I'm going there."

"Sir, may I suggest that you send either Master Dick or Master Bruce, instead?" Alfred asked.

"Hey, Commissioner Gordon!" Tim's exuberant face was suddenly stuck through the kitchen doors. "It's Barbara, sir! Her Hummer is just now pulling into the driveway!"

Jim didn't bother to acknowledge Tim; he simply grabbed his coat and ran outside.

****

Dick, Bruce, Alfred, Tim, and Leslie waited expectantly for Jim and Barbara to come in through the front door. The men were dressed in dark coats, white shirts, and lighter toned trousers. Dick wore a Christmas tie with several Santa's decorating a tree. Tim had on a plaid bowtie and red vest. Bruce was dressed more conservatively, but in deference to the holiday had decided to wear a red tie. Standing together, Alfred and Leslie looked like an elegant middle-aged couple.   

Everyone had made an effort to dress up for the Gordons' dinner party, knowing how much it meant to Barbara. Therefore, when Barbara finally made her appearance, they were each momentarily shocked at her dress. Unable to help himself, Dick's jaw dropped as he surveyed Barbara's disheveled appearance from head to foot.

Barbara glared daggers at them all, a silent warning to mind their business.

"Um...uh--" Bruce cleared his throat. "Barbara...we were beginning to wonder--? I hope that everything is all right?"

"As right as a pair of blue and green boy scouts can make it, I guess," she replied. At her words, Bruce's eyebrow shot up in understanding. Her father, on the other hand, simply frowned.

"I'm sure that means something," Jim said, "but right now, I've got a dinner to get on the table. Everybody...dinner will be ready in another ten minutes," he said. "Alfred, I'm depending on you get this family of yours properly seated on time." 

"My pleasure, sir," Alfred replied.

"And you, young lady," Jim added. "I could use your help in the kitchen." Barbara nodded tiredly.

"In a minute, Dad," she said. "I'd like to go upstairs first and freshen up."

"Okay...but just for a minute," Jim warned. As soon as Jim was gone, Dick leaned down over Barbara.

"What happened, Babs? Blue and green boy scouts? Superman and Green Lantern?" he asked.

Fighting off a yawn, Barbara nodded again. "I'll tell you later," she promised and headed to the private elevator.

****

Looking around at his seated guests, Jim could only ask, "Where's Barbara?"

"I'll get her," Dick volunteered and made a move to stand.

"In your dreams, young fella," Jim growled, stopping him with a look. "Leslie, would you please--?"

"Of course, Jim." Smiling at Dick, Leslie excused herself and headed upstairs. Dick became aware that everyone at the table was grinning at him.

"What--?" he demanded. A minute later, Leslie appeared, her finger to her lips. Barbara had fallen fast asleep.

****

The table cleared and everyone enjoying after dinner coffee in the family room, Dick slipped away unnoticed. That is, unnoticed by almost everyone.

"May I ask where you think you're going, chum?"

Dick spun around, his look of guilt giving him away easily. "Ummm...the library?" he asked.

"Uh-huh." Bruce stood, his arms crossed.

"Okay, okay!" Dick said hastily. "I only wanted to check on her. See if she's all right, y'know? Maybe get her an extra blanket or something."

His grim expression obviously warring with laughter, Bruce nodded. "Okay, Dick. I'll tell you what. We'll both check on her." At Dick's look, he explained. "What kind of father would I be if I didn't make sure you two were chaperoned properly?"

Eyes darkening, Dick nodded, muttering, "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

****

Looking in on the peacefully sleeping Barbara, lying still on her side, Dick's dark mood easily lifted. Sighing, he spoke softly so as not to disturb her. "She sure looks beautiful, doesn't she, Bruce?" At his father's nod, he continued, "How many girls can look as wonderful asleep as they do when they're awake?"

"Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?" Bruce teased. Acknowledging his adoptive father's meaning with an embarrassed grin, Dick was about to close the door, when Barbara made a soft, sleepy sound and stirred slightly. Turning in bed, Barbara now lay face up, her beautiful red hair splayed all round her.

Both men gasped at her exquisite beauty. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Dick turned to Bruce who gave him a stern shake of his head.

"Time to go, Romeo," he said. "Your Juliet needs her sleep." At this moment, both men were stopped in their tracks by the distinctive buzz saw of a loud snore. Their eyes wide, Dick and Bruce gaped at the vision before them, astounded by its cacophonous accompaniment.

"Let that be a lesson to you, chum," Bruce said as they descended the staircase. "Sometimes it's better not to know too much about the woman you love."

"You can sure say that again." At the bottom of the stairs, Dick asked. "Does snoring count the same as a yawn?"

"I don't know, son. Do ***_you*_** want to be the one to ask her?" 

****

The End


End file.
